


We Got A Lovin' Thing

by MacksDramaticShenanigans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blushing Steve Rogers, Bucky in skin tight leather pants Fuck Yeah, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Grease References, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Peggy makes a cameo, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, So does Angie, and eyeliner Fuck Yeah Times Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacksDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/MacksDramaticShenanigans
Summary: Steve’s trying to think of a good response that doesn’t make him sound pathetic in front of Brock when a flash of leather catches his eyes. His Sandy. The man is only a few feet away, and before Steve can think his actions through he’s striding towards the man and sliding an arm around his waist, pulling him into his side.Sandy looks like he’s about to say something— probably ask who the hell Steve is and what he’s doing, which would blow the lid off of Steve’s lie. Brock doesn't need more to taunt him about.So Steve does what any normal person would do. He pulls Sandy in by the waist and leans in to lay one on him.





	We Got A Lovin' Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of writing one of the hundreds of prompts I already have or working on my happy steve bingo fills or making a bigger dent in my saubb fic I decided to google Halloween prompts and I found this one “Person A and Person B accidentally show up in matching Halloween costumes and everyone is mistaking them as a couple” (and a few others I want to write as well so Stay Tuned) and here we are! This one was really fun to write and it’s my All Time Favorite trope of fake relationship so yeet. (And if you can’t tell the idea of Bucky in tight leather pants is so very appealing to me, I’m a hoe for the #ThighsOfBetrayal)
> 
> Also, for reference, Steve and Bucky’s costumes are the outfits Danny and Sandy wear in the iconic final scene of Grease. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s [Danny’s](http://www.themarketingsage.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/IMG_1597.jpg) and [Sandy’s](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/59/1e/55/591e55bf2cc687665f3457d71623bc18.jpg). 
> 
> Thank you [Arya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaWinchester/pseuds/AryaWinchester) for betaing! I appreciate it a ton! <3
> 
> The title comes from [Grease](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gqiyqu1GVE) by Frankie Valli. Of course, the title is a song from Grease bc what else would it be lol.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope y’all like this one!! Don’t shy away from that comment button either, I love hearing what y’all have to say (even if it’s just an enthusiastic keysmash!!)

“Are you sure this doesn’t look stupid?” Steve asks warily, reaching up to poke at his stiff hairdo self-consciously. His blonde locks are slicked back, hardened by the copious amounts of gel to give it that shiny, greasy look that the ‘50s style “greasers” get their name from. There’s so much of it that Steve’s sure it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass to wash out later, but Tony and Sam had insisted that using almost an entire bottle was necessary to complete the look. Steve was wary, but he didn’t have much of an opportunity to argue. 

Before his fingers come within an inch of his hair, however, Tony’s hand flies up to smack Steve’s away. His eyes narrow at Steve, a clear warning, and he shakes a finger in his face. “Ah ah, no touchy,” he snaps. “You’re not ruining all my hard work.”

“ _ Our _ hard work,” Sam interjects. 

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, but lowers his hand regardless. “I don’t think anything could ruin this. There’s so much shit in my hair a tornado probably wouldn’t even fuck it up,” he snorts. 

Tony fixes him with an unimpressed glare and sticks a hand on his popped out hip. “The gel’s not that strong, buddy,” he replies, patting Steve’s shoulder. 

“It looks good, though,” Sam adds. “You look hot, Steve.”

“Exactly,” Tony agrees. “I’d fuck you, Wilson’d fuck you”— Sam shrugs and nods— “you’re a walking wet dream in that sweater; everyone in the room’ll cream their pants at the sight of you, m’kay? Don’t you worry that pretty little head off about how you look, big guy.” 

Steve turns tomato red at Tony’s words, but he can’t say they don’t help. He nods to himself and adjusts the white letterman cardigan clinging to the black t-shirt beneath. He smooths his palms over his black jean clad thighs and the three of them make their way up the path towards the front door.

Tony pushes the door open and waltzes right in like he owns the place. Steve and Sam share a look before following closely on Tony’s heels so as to not lose him right away.

It’s crowded inside, and everyone they see is decked out in various costumes, some clearly thrown together last minute while others are obviously planned and meticulously thought out. There are all sorts of Halloween decorations adorning the walls, banners reading  _ Happy Halloween _ and signs shaped like pumpkins and headstones and ghosts. Large fake spiders on string and tissue paper ghosts hang suspended from the ceiling in certain corners of the room. Even the plastic cups are a festive orange rather than the normal red.

Tony heads straight for the kitchen where the alcohol is located, pushing through everyone with a loud, boisterous “excuse me" every so often. 

Steve isn’t exactly sure what the contents of the orange cup Tony shoves into his and Sam’s hands are, but Tony repeatedly promises that it’s good— which doesn’t really ease Steve’s mind. He’ll be sure to go easy on whatever these drinks are. 

After mixing the drinks Tony disappears back into the crowd, presumably off to search for Pepper, who promised to be here as well, leaving Steve and Sam to their own devices. 

They’ve only been at the party for about fifteen minutes when the first person approaches them to comment on Steve's costume. 

“Love the sweater! Bet it looks even better on Sandy’s floor!” A giggly girl calls as she passes by. 

Sam snorts and elbows Steve. “I told you the sweater makes the costume.”

Steve rolls his eyes and straightens the sweater. “Tony gave me the sweater,” he points out.

“Yeah, but I’m the one that convinced you to wear it. Don't give Mr. Big Head all the credit.”

After that first compliment it’s like the floodgates open. The compliments keep coming, and each other is more cryptic than the last. It becomes somewhat of a theme for Sandy to be brought up, which doesn't exactly surprise Steve, but it’s the several people referring to Sandy as a he that confuses him.

It isn’t until Sam leaves to get a refill of his drink and Steve’s left alone in the crowd that he figures out why. 

“Hey! You! Zuko!” A voice shouts. “Danny Zuko!” A short brunette woman in a tight yellow waitress uniform is pointing at him from a few feet away, and her eyes light up when Steve’s gaze lands on her. “Yes, you!” She calls, closing the distance between the two of them.

“Um, hi,” Steve says when the woman comes to a stop right in front of him. The nametag pinned to the front of her uniform reads  _ Darcy _ . “You talking to me?” He asks, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to check that there’s not another, more convincing Danny Zuko behind him. 

“Yes, I’m talking to you, grease lightning!” She answers enthusiastically. “I love your costume. Love it!” She reaches her free hand out and places it against Steve’s chest and tips her head back. “Oh man, do those arms fill out that sweater,” she gushes, dragging her hand over to one of Steve’s biceps. 

Steve’s too taken aback by her exuberant admiration to be worried about her wandering hands. “I, uh, thank you?” He says slowly with a little chuckle.

“And and and,” she continues, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. She waggles her eyebrows at Steve. “Your Sandy is one hot piece of ass.”

Steve blinks. His Sandy? “My Sandy?” He repeats.

Darcy nods, her saucy smirk growing. “Yes,” she says, “Your Sandy. God he’s giving Olivia Newton John a run for her money in those leather pants of his. Good god, that ass! And I really hope the eyeliner is a part of his daily use because hot damn, it makes his eyes look gorgeous,” she gushes. She widens her eyes for dramatic effect and she fans herself before laughing again.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve tells her. But he sure would love to find out. A hot piece of ass in leather pants and eyeliner? Who’s the walking wet dream now? 

“Oh my god,” Darcy cries out, and she lightly hits Steve’s arm. “That’s good, I like that. Staying in character. Maybe there’s two’a you, should I take out a missing persons ad or try the yellow pages?” Darcy snickers. 

Steve understands the reference, but as much as he wishes he were just trying to stay in character, he really isn’t. There was no way for him to have known that out of all parties in New York that the other half of his very costume would show up, all alone, without his own Danny. It doesn’t seem worth it to try and explain this to Darcy, though, so Steve just decides to go along with it. He laughs and shakes his head before lifting a hand to smooth over the side of his hair, just like how they did it in the movie. If he had a comb he’d pull it out and use that, but his costume isn’t that detail oriented. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I guess I should probably go find my Sandy. I heard he needs a man and his heart is set on me,” he replies smoothly, throwing a wink at Darcy before breezing past her. 

Steve doesn't get very far before he’s stopped again. This time it's a heavy hand falling onto his shoulder, fingers digging in sharply. It’s too familiar and Steve’s whole body tenses beneath it. 

“Steve? Is that you?” 

Steve’s eyes shut briefly as he collects himself, and he inhales through his nose before spinning around to face none other than Brock Rumlow, Steve’s ex boyfriend. 

“Brock,” he greets stiffly. 

Brock doesn't look any different than the last time Steve saw him. Same greasy haircut, same sneering mouth. The only difference is instead of Steve’s bags on his arms, ready to send him on his way, there’s a pretty blonde woman. The two of them are wearing matching costumes— cop uniforms, though hers looks more like a stripper’s getup than a real uniform. Brock doesn't bother to introduce her.

“I heard you were here,” Brock says. A taunting smirk curves onto his lips. “I didn't think you were in any state to go out. Thought you’d be too busy crying over our breakup still,” he sneers.

Steve bristles and he clenches his jaw tightly. A sharp spike of anger courses through him, but he doesn’t let any emotions show through. He won’t give Brock the satisfaction. Steve’s trying to think of a good response that doesn’t make him sound pathetic when a flash of leather catches his eyes. His Sandy. The man is only a few feet away, and before Steve can think his actions through he’s striding towards the man and sliding an arm around his waist, pulling him into his side.

There’s a too large smile on Steve’s face, one he hopes conveys his desperation for the man to play along. His eyes meet a kohl lined grey-blue pair that are wide in surprise. Eyebrows furrow and pretty pink lips purse. He pushes a strand of chestnut, chin length hair behind his ear. The man is utterly gorgeous, even looking as confused as he is, and Steve can’t help but wish, for a brief moment, that everyone’s assumptions were true— that they really were a couple. Sandy looks like he’s about to say something— probably ask who the hell Steve is and what he’s doing, which would blow the lid off of Steve’s lie. Brock doesn't need more to taunt him about. 

So Steve does what any normal person would do. He pulls Sandy in by the waist and leans in to lay one on him.

He can see the shock that settles over Brock’s face before his eyes slip shut. Unfortunately, Steve doesn't get to enjoy the kiss, and Sandy barely starts to kiss back before Steve pulls away. He does start to, though, Steve notes. 

Sandy’s eyes are still colored with surprise from Steve’s actions, but Steve can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to work out the situation. One of his hands is resting low on Steve’s back, just above the curve of his ass, and the other is pressed loosely against Steve’s chest. 

“Hey, baby, I was just looking for you,” Steve says, batting his eyelashes and sending a sweet smile Sandy’s way. 

Understanding clicks in Sandy’s eyes and suddenly he’s curling his arm tighter around Steve and leaning fully into his body. “Aw, well, I’m glad you found me, doll,” he replies, his tone just as sugary as Steve’s. He shifts his gaze towards Brock and his date before turning back towards Steve. “Who’s this?” He asks, lifting a brow.

“I’m Brock,” Brock interrupts gruffly. He doesn’t stick his hand out for a handshake. “Steve and I used to date,” he adds smugly. 

“Oh,” Sandy says. His nose scrunches briefly, an unimpressed expression flickering across his face as he gives Brock a once over. “Can’t say Steve’s ever mentioned you.” He punctuates his statement with a carefree shrug and a small chuckle. The satisfied upturn of his lips is faint, but it’s enough that Steve can tell he’s pleased with the reaction it gains him. 

Brock’s cocky grin falters, and he blinks dumbly for a second before collecting himself. “Steve’s never mentioned you,” he bites. He looks like a defiant child with his chin jut out and arms crossed over his chest. 

Bucky laughs airily. “I should hope not. Why would he be speaking with his ex?” He shoots back in a matter-of-fact tone. 

Steve has to bite back a snicker. 

“It’s good to see Steve’s moved on,” Brock then says. He couldn’t sound more disingenuous. “Our breakup hit him real hard.” He has the nerve to look sympathetic. “He was cryin’ so hard his whole face was red and he had snot runnin’ from his nose,” Brock supplies, “but we just weren’t workin’ out. Not much you can do about that.” He shrugs. The woman beside him looks slightly uncomfortable with the conversation, but she stays quiet. 

Steve goes beet red at that, embarrassment and rage flooding his body. He wants to argue, wants to shout that his reaction was entirely valid, thanks very much, because he’d just walked in on Brock fucking somebody else. What kind of a human  _ wouldn’t _ be upset by that. Instead he just grits his teeth and bites his tongue. He’s sure that if he were in a cartoon he’d have smoke coming out of his ears too. The hand on his back shifts until Sandy’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles into Steve’s hip. It helps a little.

Sandy’s brows furrow and he narrows his eyes at Brock. Then a smile spreads across his face. “That sure sounds like my Stevie,” he says, knocking his head against Steve’s gently. “Always been in touch with his emotions, this one. S’one of the things I love about him,” he preens. “A real man’s not afraid to get a little emotional, and Steve here’s nothing if not a real man. In every single way.” Sandy’s lips curl and he flicks his eyebrows up once, the innuendo left unsaid, yet heavily implied. 

The blush flares up on Steve’s cheeks again, but this time for a whole new reason. God, he could get used to having this man around. He’s fantastic for Steve’s ego. 

“Oh,” Brock says. A lewd look crosses over his face as he lifts a finger to point between the two of them. “So you two are—”

“—leaving. We’re leaving,” Sandy interjects, sending Brock a forced smile. “I need a new drink.” The arm around Steve’s waist is suddenly gone, and Steve mourns the loss for only a second before Sandy’s hand twines with Steve’s, their fingers slotting together. “It was…  _ lovely _ … meeting you, if you’ll excuse us,” Sandy grits out. Then he’s tugging Steve towards the kitchen and away from Brock. 

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. God, that whole encounter was a trainwreck. He’s grateful for Sandy’s out. He really does need a fucking drink.

“That guy was  _ awful _ ,” Sandy gushes as they enter the kitchen. He drops Steve’s hand to reach for a bottle of rum. Steve doesn’t mourn the loss of contact. He doesn’t. “You dated him?”

Steve flushes with shame and nods. “Yeah,” he confirms, pulling a new cup from the top of the stack. “I don’t know what I saw in him,” he says. 

“You’re tellin’ me, pal! The guy was a total dick! Who the hell says shit like that to an ex’s new boyfriend? And in front of his own girlfriend too!” Sandy exclaims, shaking his head. He pours a generous amount of the rum into Steve’s cup and then makes one for himself. 

“He failed to include the real reason I was like that,” Steve says, pursing his lips. He laughs humorlessly. “Bastard cheated on me. I walked in on him.” 

“Shit,” Sandy gasps, cup pausing halfway to his lips. “What a fucking asshole,” he hisses before taking an angry sip. 

Steve takes a long pull of his rum and relishes in the slight burn as it goes down. “The biggest,” he agrees. “Thanks for uh, rolling with the punches back there, by the way. I’m not… I’m not still into him or anything— I got over him real quick, actually— but that’s not how he’ll take it if he sees me alone.” 

“I can’t say I wasn’t surprised when my Danny Zuko swept me up, but I’m glad my costume choice could help you out,” Sandy says with a laugh. “Y’know, I was actually going to try to find you at some point tonight.” 

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “Find me?” He asks. 

Sandy nods. “Yeah, all night I’ve been getting people coming up to me telling me how much they love me and my boyfriend’s costumes,” he explains. “Figured I should probably find out who my supposed boyfriend was.” One corner of his lips is tugged up just a hint more than the other, making his smile slightly lopsided, and Steve’s completely endeared.

“Well, I’m Steve,” Steve supplies, shifting his cup into his left hand so he can hold out his right for a handshake. 

Sandy slides his hand into Steve’s. It’s big and his palm fits nicely against Steve’s. “Names Bucky,” he replies. “Good to meet you, Steve. You make one helluva greaser.” 

“And you make one helluva a pink lady,” Steve echoes, wearing his own crooked grin. He takes a moment to appreciate the commitment to the costume in the form of the off-the-shoulders top Bucky’s wearing and the chunky black belt. 

Bucky twists so he can throw a sultry look over his bare shoulder, and he flutters his eyelashes playfully. “Tell me about it, stud,” he drawls, low and sensuous. 

Steve doesn’t swoon. He doesn’t. Instead he laughs and busies himself with another sip. “So what made you pick Sandy?”

“My buddy Clint said I couldn’t pull off leather pants like his girlfriend could. I told him I could. I needed a costume for this party and I’m a big fan of  _ Grease _ , so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” Bucky shrugs. 

“Did you prove him wrong then?” Steve asks curiously. He can’t imagine the answer being anything other than  _ yes _ . Bucky’s ass really does look fantastic in those tight leather pants— Steve looked when they’d been making their escape. He’s only human, sue him.

Bucky’s smirk grows and he shakes some of his hair from his eyes. It’s kind of mesmerizing. “I’m pretty sure Clint seriously considered dumping Natasha for me right then and there,” he replies cheekily. 

Steve snorts. “I’ve never seen this Natasha character, but I don’t blame Clint. Your ass looks amazing in leather,” he says, surprising himself with his forwardness. He immediately flames up and ducks his head. God, he’s done more blushing tonight alone than his entire life, he thinks. Steve brings his cup back to his lips and drains the rest of his rum in one go.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he barks out a laugh, doubling over a little with the force of it. “Thank you,” he says genuinely. “Glad my pretend other half can appreciate my  _ ass _ ets,” he grins. Then he picks the rum bottle up again and tips it towards Steve, lifting a questioning eyebrow. 

Steve nods and thrusts his cup towards Bucky. God knows he’ll need something to keep his mouth occupied before he blurts out anything else that can further embarrass him. 

 

Conversation between the two of them flows easily from that point on, and Steve, surprisingly, manages to not say anything else too embarrassing, so he counts it as a win. At some point they migrate from the kitchen and out into the living room, but they’re pressed up against one of the walls rather than in the midst of the makeshift dance floor with all of it’s writhing bodies. 

They’re in the middle of a heated debate about which  _ Grease _ song is the best when movement near the front door catches Steve’s attention. Almost immediately he recognizes Brock and the blonde girl letting themselves out. He doesn’t even realize that his shoulders had tensed up at the sight of Brock until one of Bucky’s hands comes up to rest against Steve’s upper arm. 

“Y’alright?” He asks slowly, searching Steve’s eyes.

Steve nods. “Yeah, sorry. Just saw Brock again,” he answers. Bucky’s face twists up. Steve laughs. “He just left, though, so we won’t have to worry about him anymore,” he assures. “And I guess that means you’re officially off the hook now,” he adds with a wistful smile. “Thanks again for saving my ass back there.”

“Oh, right,” Bucky says, chuckling. “It’s no sweat off my back, Stevie,” he adds, and the nickname makes Steve’s heart skip a beat or two. “I’m glad I could help you stick it to him.”

“Me too,” Steve agrees with a grin. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Bucky, he really doesn’t, but he feels bad enough for stealing up his time and putting a damper on his evening by making him play pretend. He should let Bucky get back to the party, and he should probably find Sam or Tony, too, since he hasn’t really seen either of them since they arrived and subsequently split up. “I should probably go see if I can find my friends,” Steve tells Bucky. “Don’t be a stranger if you see me in the crowd, though,” he adds, hoping their paths will cross later on. It would be a shame if he didn’t see Bucky at least once more before the night ends. 

Bucky smiles bright and nods. “You got it, doll,” he replies, saluting Steve. 

And if Steve thinks he catches the way Bucky’s face falls a little as he turns to disappear into the crowd, well, that’s for him to wonder about. 

 

Steve isn’t able to find Sam or Tony after that, but that doesn’t put a damper on things. During his search he stumbles upon a pair of women, a brunette wearing a very realistic WWII service uniform and a blonde dressed to the nines in a hollywood starlet gown. Both women have their hair in stunning victory curls— which Steve knows, thanks to his friend Carol who attempted them once for a work thing, are very hard to perfect. He has an overwhelming urge to complement them, so he does. 

The three of them end up hitting it off, and Steve stays to chat for a while. Eventually, the song playing changes to something the two women recognize and they try to pull Steve to the dance floor. As someone with two left feet, Steve and dancing don’t mix well. He tries to put up a little bit of a fight at first, but thanks to the alcohol running through his veins his resolve crumbles much faster than it would for sober Steve and he finds himself awkwardly swaying along to the thumping bass with the two women. 

Steve and the brunette are dancing pretty close, but there’s still a respectable amount of space between them. Steve’s fairly certain that she and the blonde are together, but he doesn’t want to cross any lines or step on any toes. Metaphorically, at least— he’s already stepped on plenty of toes physically. 

Before he can lean in to ask the brunette about it, a new body sidles up to Steve and slides between him and the brunette. Steve’s about to protest when he recognizes the strong, exposed shoulders and sweeping collar bones that are suddenly all up in his space. It’s Bucky. 

Bucky grins at Steve, his movements slow and slinking as he dances closer with each sway of his hips. He’s matching the beat of the song perfectly, and it’s  _ not _ turning Steve on. It’s not. 

“You’re back,” Steve comments, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Bucky nods and leans in close. His lips brush against the shell of Steve’s ear, and a shiver goes up Steve’s spine. “Your ex isn’t gone,” he says. “I saw him watching you with these girls. Can’t have him finding you out, now, can we? Sorry if I’m fucking up your chances,” he adds. 

Bucky’s so close, and he smells so good, too. A little like the cologne he must be wearing and a little like the rum they’d shared earlier. Steve’s a little breathless, and he finds himself leaning into Bucky’s touch all too easily. He shakes his head, eyes wide and sincere as he says, “No, you’re not fucking up anything.”

A grin spreads across Bucky’s sinful lips and his hands slide down to Steve’s waist as the song switches from something poppy to “Hella Good” by No Doubt. Steve can feel the bass in his bones, and Bucky pulls Steve’s body flush against his own. One of Bucky’s thighs pushes between Steve’s and his body moves fluidly along to the beat, grinding up against Steve’s. 

If someone would have told Steve that he’d end up grinding with a hot guy to some ‘00s hit like he was a teenager again he would’ve laughed something fierce. But there he is, arms loosely hanging around Bucky’s neck, moving his body in ways he frankly never thought he could. Gwen Stefani’s right, he is feeling ‘hella good’. Maybe he owes Tony an apology for arguing so adamantly about not going to this party. 

The dancing is so good,  _ so _ good, and Steve almost forgets that they’re only doing this to put on a show for Brock. 

That is until they shift just enough that Steve catches a glimpse of him over Bucky’s shoulder. His eyes are on Steve and Bucky, watching the two of them as they dance. His eyes are narrowed, lip curled back in distaste, but he’s still watching, and the fact that he’s doing that, like there’s still a trace of interest there, rather than paying attention to the woman on his arm makes Steve’s blood boil. He doesn’t need Brock anymore, doesn’t love him one bit, and he’ll be damned if he lets Brock walk away thinking he still does. Steve’s got to make this as convincing as possible.

So he nudges his nose against Bucky’s jaw, tipping his head just enough that he can expose the column of his throat and start to trail wet, open mouthed kisses there. Bucky’s skin is salty from sweat, but he tastes so good. 

A surprised noise falls from Bucky’s lips, but his hips don’t falter once. He even cranes his neck a little more to allow Steve better access.

Steve leaves a line of kisses up Bucky’s neck and over the sharp edge of his jaw. He leaves one on the cleft of his chin, then the corner of his lips, and then Steve’s covering his mouth completely with his own, an echo of their first interaction, only much  _ much  _ better.

Bucky’s mouth is hot and wet and soft and pliant against Steve’s. There’s not even a second of hesitation when their lips meet before Bucky’s kissing back, putting everything he’s got into it. His fingers tighten against Steve’s waist, and he pushes one of his hands underneath Steve’s shirt to grip at the skin directly. 

Steve welcomes Bucky’s tongue into his mouth easily, and the kiss deepens. He twines one of his hands through the strands of Bucky’s hair and tugs gently, pulling a whine from the back of Bucky’s throat. It goes straight to Steve’s dick. 

They’re barely dancing anymore, just grinding up against each other with no rhythm to it, their movements too direct and goal-oriented now to be anything else, and Steve briefly thinks about how he could probably come in his pants like this, if they kept it up. 

The thought startles him enough for him to remember where he is, who he’s with, and why, and he forces his mind back online. As much as he’d love to get off with Bucky, he’s not so sure Bucky’s on the same page.

Steve pops an eye open to glance towards Brock, and it’s just in time, too. He sees Brock turn towards the door, the grip on his girlfriend’s arm way too tight as he pulls her outside. The door shuts with a harsh slam behind him. 

Steve allows himself to indulge in Bucky’s mouth just a little bit longer before he starts to feel guilty about using him when there’s no point anymore. He very much enjoys kissing Bucky— it’s a pastime he could easily get used to— but he doesn’t want to overstep. 

He starts to lean back, and Bucky’s lips chase his. It’s all too enticing, and Steve gives in for a few more seconds before finally, properly parting from the kiss. Bucky’s lips are shiny, slick with spit, and Steve gets a little lost staring. 

They’re still pressed up against each other, and the both of them are sporting tighter pants than they’d started out with. Neither of them mention it, though. Bucky’s hand is still up Steve’s shirt, resting against his side now; it feels nice against Steve’s skin. 

“What was that for?” Bucky asks, breathless. 

Steve shakes his head. “He was watching. Needed to make it more convincing.” 

Bucky nods slowly. “Ah, okay,” he says. “Y’think that did the trick?”

It’s Steve’s turn to nod. “He just left, so I’m guessing he didn’t like what he saw.”

“Good, good,” Bucky says. He looks like he’s about to say more, but he’s cut off by someone shouting his name from nearby. 

The two of them snap apart, and Bucky spins around only to have a large man throws himself into Bucky’s arms. Bucky stumbles back a little, but he wraps his arms back around the man and sends Steve an apologetic look over his shoulder. 

“Bucky god damn Barnes! It’s been too long!” The big man cries. He’s wearing a pinstripe suit and a shiny bowler hat sits atop his head. Steve thinks it’s a very convincing mob boss getup. As he pulls back from the hug, Steve gets a better look at his face, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the bushy mustache that hides most of his grin.

“Hey, DumDum,” Bucky responds, his own grin settling over his lips. “Long time, no see, pal,” he says, punching DumDum on the shoulder. 

“You’re telling me!” DumDum exclaims with a hearty laugh. “Let me get you a drink, we’ve got a lot to catch up on,” he says, slinging an arm around Bucky’s neck. “Morita and Jones are somewhere ‘round here,” he adds, whipping his head around to scan the crowds for their two other friends. 

Steve takes that moment to make his exit. He doesn’t want to get in the way of Bucky catching up with an old friend. He touches Bucky’s arm briefly to get his attention and tell him so. “Thanks again for helping with the Brock thing,” he says. “I’ll let you go, don’t worry.”

Bucky sends Steve a regretful look. “Sorry about this,” he says. “Maybe I’ll see you around again before the night’s over?” He asks. He sounds almost hopeful about it, and Steve grins at that. 

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” he replies. And with that he turns back towards the sea of bodies and starts to push his way through to exit the dance floor. 

Just as he finally escapes the crowd of writhing bodies, he spots Sam a few feet away. “Sam!” He calls, changing direction so he can head over to his friend.

Sam lights up when he sees Steve and he claps a hand over his shoulder. “Steve! Man, I’ve been looking for you. What the hell’ve you been doing—” his eyes widen as he takes in Steve’s appearance, his messy hair, his swollen lips, the color still high on his cheeks. “Or should I say  _ who _ the hell have you been doing? Damn, Rogers!” His lips curve into a wicked smirk. “Shit, Tony was right, that gel doesn’t hold up very well,” Sam comments with a snort and a low whistle.

Steve’s hand flies up to his hair to find pieces that were original slicked back are now sticking up wildly. A hot blush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck and he tries to smooth the hairs back into place. “It’s uh, it’s a long story,” he replies.

“Yeah? Well, unless you’ve got someone to get back to, we’ve got time. So lay it on me. Wait, where’s Tony? This sounds like it’s gonna be good, he’s gotta hear this.” 

And that’s how Steve finds himself in the kitchen rehashing the events of the last hour and a half of his night to Sam and Tony, who both react in all the right ways at all the right times. 

“Fuck that guy, Steve. Brock’s an asshole who’s not worth your time and energy,” Sam says. “It’s a good thing he left already otherwise I’d find his ass and drag him outta here myself.”

“I’ve been looking for a test dummy for the new contraption I’ve been working on. It’s sort of like a tazor mixed with a flail,” Tony starts. “Just say the word, Rogers.”

Steve rolls his eyes at his friends, but he’s touched by their protectiveness. “I think you guys would get along well with Buck, he had similar sentiments.” 

“Buck?” Sam repeats, lifting an eyebrow suggestively at Steve. 

“Bucky,” Steve corrects, ducking his head shyly.

“Aw, does little Stevie have a crush?” Tony teases, nudging Steve in the ribs with his elbow. 

Steve sends Tony a glare, but there’s no malice behind it. 

“So, this Bucky guy,” Sam says. “You get his number?”

Steve groans and shakes his head. “No,” he answers. 

“Steve,” Tony tuts. “You had your tongue down the guy’s throat and you didn’t even get his number?” He looks disappointed and even crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Don’t make this worse,” Steve says, burying his face in his arm. 

“Hey, wait a second, isn't that him?” Sam asks, pointing towards the kitchen, which they can see into from where they're standing. “Or is there another dude in tight ass leather pants and a chick’s top at this party?” 

Steve’s head snaps up from his hands and his eyes follow Sam’s finger. And yep. That’s definitely Bucky. Steve would recognize that ass anywhere. 

“Well, shit, Rogers,” Tony says with an appreciative whistle. “That guy’s hot as hell. You better get your ass in there and get on that before I do.”

“Yeah, and before that guy next to him does, too. He’s got hungry eyes,” Sam points out, jerking his chin in the direction of the very determined looking man standing opposite of Bucky with a weasley grin pulling at his lips. 

Bucky’s standing by the bar, fingers curled around the neck of the rum bottle again, but there’s a sour look on his face that Steve knows isn’t brought on by the alcohol. He knows that Bucky loves rum way too much to look at it like that.

“Aw, c’mon, lemme make you something,” the weasel says, trying and failing to sound seductive. His voice is loud enough that it carries. “I bet I know just what you like.” His tone drops low and it curdles something in Steve. 

Bucky shifts away from the man and pours out some of the rum in his cup. He looks obviously uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem like the weasel is picking up on that. “Uh, no thanks, I think I’m alright,” Bucky says. 

“But you haven’t even tried my signature mix,” the weasel continues. “I call it Jeremy’s Secret.” 

“I said no,” Bucky replies, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

“You should get in there, Steve,” Sam says, nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“He helped you out with Brock. Return the favor,” Tony adds. “Rescuing someone is bound to score you enough tickets to trade in for the big prize at the end of the night.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Steve. 

Steve rolls his eyes at Tony’s insinuation, but he has to admit that his friends have a point. Bucky did help him out, it’s only fair he do the same. Not to mention, Bucky clearly isn't interested and this weasel— Jeremy?— looks like he’s going to keep pestering Bucky until he says yes, which doesn’t sit well with Steve at all. 

He pushes his barely touched drink into Tony’s hand and heads towards the kitchen. He crosses the threshold quickly and swiftly approaches Bucky. Bucky’s back is slightly turned towards Steve, so he can’t see Steve walking up. He startles a little as Steve slides his arms around Bucky’s waist and tucks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the bare skin before trailing his lips up to kiss at Bucky’s neck. “Hey, baby,” he says in a low voice of his own.

Bucky instantly relaxes back into Steve’s touch, and he tips his head so he can properly look at Steve. “Hi,” he breathes back, the relief evident in his tone. He purses his lips and his eyelids flutter lower— a clear invitation for a kiss.

Steve grins to himself before indulging Bucky. He keeps the kiss brief— god knows he could drag it out for days, would  _ like _ to drag it out for days, but he’s got a weasel to chase off. Except when he finally pulls his gaze from Bucky and goes to turn it onto the weasel, the man in question has vanished. 

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky groans, turning in Steve’s arms and dropping his forehead against Steve’s chest. Steve chuckles as Bucky pulls back and drains his entire cup in one go. “That guy couldn’t take a fucking hint!” He barks out, shaking his head.

“I noticed,” Steve says. “Thought I could return the favor, save you from a little trouble of your own.”

Bucky grins at him. “Well I appreciate that a whole helluva lot, Steve. I really don’t know how I would’ve gotten rid of him otherwise.” 

A comfortable moment of silence passes over them and then Bucky’s gaze drops down in between them. When he looks back up at Steve, he’s got a playful grin toying at his lips. 

“Funny how we keep ending up like this,” he comments. The two of them are still pressed up together, Steve’s arms still wrapped around Bucky. Neither of them move to break apart, though. 

Steve chuckles and sunshine paints his face. “It is, isn't it?” He agrees.

“I’m starting to think it might be fate or something. Seems like destiny sure likes us together.” He pauses for a moment. “Maybe it’s her way of telling us to give this thing a shot. For real,” Bucky says, with a shrug. He tilts his head and lifts a brow.

“Oh,” Steve replies stupidly. Is Bucky… is he asking Steve out? “You think so?” Steve asks, holding his breath a little.

Bucky nods. “I know a great little diner a few blocks away. What do you say we get out of here and split a milkshake, maybe?”

That’s definitely Bucky asking him out, and Steve can’t stop the huge smile from spreading across his face. He’s sure it makes him look like a little crazy, but he was just asked out by a gorgeous, amazing guy. He can grin like a fool if he damn well pleases. “I’d like that a lot,” he answers.

“Great. I don't have a fancy red convertible to drive us into the sky, but we shouldn't really be driving anyways, so I think that works out pretty well,” Bucky jokes. He extracts himself from Steve’s arms, but only enough to hold out a hand for Steve to take.

Steve slides his hand into Bucky’s and twines their fingers together. 

Bucky turns to glance at Steve over his shoulder as he starts to pull him towards the front door. “Oh, Danny,” he starts dramatically. “Is this the end?” 

Steve grins. He knows this line. “No Sandy,” he replies, just as dramatic. “It’s only the beginning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment!
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